


The Lion

by fabricdragon



Series: Songs of Experience [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, BAMF Sebastian Moran, BDSM, Bisexual Male Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Change of Identity, Crossover Pairings, Demisexuality, Dubious Ethics, F/M, False Identity, Interrogation, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Unrequited Crush, in chapter headings, non graphic canon torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-10-10 01:48:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10426494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Continuing the story from "The Tyger":  Alec Trevalyan is officially dead (rescued by Jim Moriarty)  and was reborn as Sebastian Moran, the Tiger.  However his oldest and dearest friend, Jaames Bond has now entered the story, and it gets complicated...Plus Jim is engaged in a battle of wits with a mysterious  intellect in Secret Security... who just may be his equal... and an old obsession has suddenly reappeared named Sherlock Holmes... along with a new obsession..or in other words, its complicated.





	1. Debrief

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What Is Mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9533915) by [SweetnessandLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetnessandLight/pseuds/SweetnessandLight). 



It took two days to get Bond transferred to an English hospital. Of course, he never arrived at the official one, but went straight into the private hospital run by MI6, since he wasn’t in critical condition.

The medical people held off his debriefing for another day–partly because he asked the nurse to do so, very nicely, with promises of more once he could move around. He needed to think.

He knew he’d be debriefed, and he wouldn’t be able to keep it all to himself, but… This felt personal.

_I want to get to these people before MI6 does._

*

Director Mallory came in with someone incongruously dressed in a bespoke three piece suit.

“Gieves and Hawkes,” Bond said idly.

Mallory looked baffled but the other man nodded, “You know your tailors.”

“Their distinctive lapels, at the least, and the cut of the waistcoat is a giveaway.” Bond studied the man, and had the feeling he was being studied in turn. _The newcomer was tall, and his eyes were frighteningly sharp. He didn’t move like a combatant, but he didn’t carry himself like he wasn’t one, either._

Mallory coughed, “Mr. Holmes will be sitting in on your debrief.”

Bond raised an eyebrow at that. _His clearance must be phenomenal. Most people just got a precis._

“Yes, well, about that, Mallory–“

“M, please?” Mallory sighed.

“M,” Bond said tiredly, “I need the two of you then in the secure conference room for the initial debrief.”

Holmes blinked a lot, “You aren’t arguing my presence? M thought you would.”

“You outrank him: it’s obvious,” Bond said flicking another glance between the two. “Besides, I have the impression you’re involved.”

The focus on him sharpened to a palpable intensity. “You are far more interesting than I expected, Mr. Bond.”

“Hmm,” Bond nodded. _Holmes had power, and lots of it._

They made their way to the secure conference room, and all the filters were turned on.

“Are you the one who sent me on this last mission?” Bond asked Holmes.

“Why?”

“It’s important. I heard things, but they don’t make sense.”

Holmes nodded slowly, “For some time, I have been involved in a covert struggle with someone who is behind the scenes in a great number of criminal and terroristic enterprises: he uses the name Moriarty. He apparently took some kind of dislike to a group of associates: rumor has it that one of the group betrayed him, and it escalated from there. A price was put on all of their heads, we managed to acquire a few of them, but none of them had met Moriarty directly, only his agents.” Holmes sighed and sat back. “And then Moriarty arranged to get information on several of them to me, making it clear he knew about me–at least as much as I know about him.”

Bond nodded, “And my target?”

“The last man we managed to question told us that the incident was sparked by one of the associates trying to drug Moriarty’s agent, to get information about the man. The man behind that, the one who actually ordered it, was your target. We wanted to get to him before Moriarty.”

“I did, but it was a trap.” Bond glared at Holmes, “Which if I had been given PROPER information, I would have expected. They were waiting for Moriarty, or an agent of his called Tiger.”

Both M and Holmes reacted to the name.

“How did you hear that?”

“Because they thought at first that I was ‘Tiger’ and working for someone named Moriarty. The trap was set for them.” Bond sighed, “And then… I think… the Tiger showed up.”

“What? Is that who–?” Mallory started.

Holmes cut him off, “Tell us.”

 _Mallory didn’t even protest. Holmes outranked him by THAT much?_ “First of all, as I said: if I had KNOWN I was walking into that kind of situation, I would have been able to evade the trap. I’m rather annoyed.”

Holmes nodded slowly in acknowledgement.

Bond continued, “I’ll detail the trap and the fight later, it’s not relevant. After I was captured, they tried to interrogate me, called me Tiger a few times, asked about Moriarty. I’m afraid I was taken by surprise so much that they realized I didn’t react correctly. I think they’d assumed I was a different agent, not Tiger, but still working for Moriarty. Then the Russians showed up.”

“Russians?”

“Various ethnicities, but Russian mob. They were speaking Russian: I did my best to listen, but it was mostly the usual comments in battle. The original group who had me didn’t speak Russian. Eventually, the Russians won. It was obvious they were aiming to capture as many as they could. They didn’t touch me, since I was secured; my main risk was being hit by accident.”

Bond took a deep breath, “Then the interesting man came in. He ordered one of the more grievously injured given ‘mercy’ and they shot him. I decided to try to talk to him. His Russian was flawless, but… eerie: no accent, completely and utterly neutral–at least at first. I eventually picked up a trace of University–like he spoke a lot to academics–and there was an underlying hint of some of the satellite states but… faint.”

“Describe him?”

“He’s a Chameleon,” Bond said, using the phrase for someone who was bland and able to pass unnoticed. “Someone we would desperately want as a deep cover operative. He changed in front of me. He came in looking a bit rounded of face, dark eyes, dark hair, from what I could see, short, maybe five foot seven? But later, he stood differently, I’d say five nine, and his face was thinner. So a practiced and expert Chameleon.” Bond thought. “One thing though: most Chameleons are very empty of personality; they come off like cardboard. This one? He had a LOT of charisma.”

Holmes looked fascinated. “You describe well: it’s rare to find a good observer.”

“Thank you,” Bond nodded and decided to trust him with more information. _He’d probably notice if I left too much out_. “Let me explain the sequence: he came in; I tried to talk to him. He immediately identified my Russian as not native, and my accent as fake–no one does that, not even Russian agents. He also said I was pretty.”

Mallory coughed. “So you have a date set up already?” Mallory asked. Bond knew he was serious, but Holmes raised an eyebrow. _He didn’t know_.

“He implied he wouldn’t have minded,” Bond shrugged. He looked off and pictured it in his mind. “He was looking at me admiringly, and I was trying to determine if it was that he liked the torture, or something else, when he touched a communication link in his ear and stopped. He asked what was urgent, and then looked startled and his possessive look at me changed and intensified. He identified me as James Bond from MI6. Whoever was on the line was talking still; he held up a hand at the other Russians and they backed off.

“Then he said, ‘{Calm down, Tiger, I won’t hurt your British Lion…}’.” He quoted it in Russian–as he expected, Holmes understood him immediately and his eyes widened.

“That man was talking to the Tiger,” Holmes murmured.

“Yes, and the Tiger was obviously the one who identified me. So either he could do so on sight, or they had reason to expect I might have been there and, once he saw me, could identify me.”

“Then what?”

“The Chameleon dismissed the Russians, told them the prisoners were theirs. His attention became entirely focused on me. He stood there quietly waiting until they left. First of all, I must say the Russians were afraid of him, at least the smarter ones. But I also noticed his persona was dropping away as they left: he stood up straighter, as I said; he stopped puffing his cheeks out; he didn’t look as soft–he was more clearly in charge, but relaxed. He also spent the time studying me, analyzing the damage. He definitely looked interested, in every sense of the word.

“Once everyone else was gone–and, yes, he was still listening to his earpiece–he told me he had heard I was persuasive, and not adverse to men.” Bond looked pointedly at Mallory, “My record usually emphasizes women, so that’s… unusual information to have.”

~

“I take it that it is accurate?” Mycroft asked. Bond didn’t have anything about himself that would imply anything of his sexuality other than being straight–in fact, Mycroft thought it unlikely that he would have guessed unless he saw him react.

“I’m bisexual,” Bond shrugged. _No shame, but not bragging or concealing anything, so actually bisexual, not gay and hiding it._ “I don’t have much preference by gender, I have things I prefer in men, and things I prefer in women, but he had the basic facts of it, and that’s unusual. I’ve often had opponents use women to try to get to me, but the fact that I might be interested in men as well never seems to get around.” _Which would make this highly unusual, and imply either knowledge of a specific incident, or a great deal of research…_

_Or a mole, unfortunately, since Mallory knew._

“He then stated that his advisor–and that’s how he called the man he was listening to; I thought it was unusual–said I couldn’t be trusted, but he was curious. My analysis said that a challenge would be better–I gave him a hard-to-get attitude and he responded with increased interest.”

Bond was describing analysis and response to the man, even after torture, as second nature. Mycroft found himself completely intrigued. _It was rare to find someone who actually observed._

“Here’s where things got odd,” Bond said, looking distant as he went over memories.

Mallory snorted, “Here? They’ve BEEN odd, Double-O Seven.”

“He moved onto my lap: I was expecting either that or to have my head pulled back as he stood over me, depending on how he wanted to dominate me, but that’s not what happened. He moved into my lap, carefully. He kept most of his weight on the chair, and off my injuries, and that also means he had observed some of the less obvious damage. He was watching my face intently. I said he was more of a gentleman than most, and he looked amused… then I heard someone walking up behind me. Whoever they were, I barely heard them–they were very good. As soon as my eyes moved, the Chameleon took my face in both hands and kissed me, keeping me from seeing the person behind me–Tiger, I assume.”

“Likely.”

“Psychology of note: the man let me take control of the kiss.” Bond probably didn’t know he had licked his lip, just a little. “He tasted of mint, and, frankly, an English mint–I’m fairly certain I know the brand. And he knew what he was doing as a kisser, but he was deliberately letting me take lead. I was given an injection of tranquilizer while he kissed me. He kept it up until I feigned to slip under.”

“Feigned?” Holmes raised an eyebrow.

“It was a tranquilizer; I simply acted a bit MORE tranquilized. Tiger wasn’t fooled. He kept a hand on my pulse at my neck, and never said a word. Then he put earplugs in my ears,” Bond grumbled, “AND blindfolded me. After that I could hear a little but not enough to identify voices. I got more from the man on my lap from the vibrations… he was asking if it was needed–I assume the blindfold and earplugs–and then they took me off the chair I was chained to, re-secured me–extremely carefully, but thoroughly–and Tiger, I assume, carried me to the car.”

Bond smirked, “I was groggy, but I did get some information: Tiger is about six foot tall, and has a great deal of upper arm and chest development, but nothing extraneous. He also kept my head aimed down, so I couldn’t peek out of the blindfold. I was put in the back seat with the Chameleon, who kept my head up against his chest, so I couldn’t see.” Bond looked thoughtful, “He also was running his hands over me. Seemed like a cross between sexual interest and checking my injuries. Again, extremely gentle, like he was used to touching people who were hurt, so medical background maybe?”

Bond shrugged, “Oh, and the Chameleon is NOT Eastern European. I just realized, when my head was lying on his chest all the vibrations and pitch patterns were wrong for Eastern Europe. I would be betting on the UK, but I didn’t get enough to swear to it.”

“I am impressed, Mr. Bond. Your observation skills are a refreshing change.” Mycroft was beyond impressed. _Actually, the man was fascinating. Unfortunately, the Double-O agents weren’t known for being the sort of people you could have over for tea and social conversation._

Bond nodded and then blinked. “That’s something I forgot: he called me James. After identifying me, the first time, he called me James, not Bond. Interesting.” Bond shrugged uneasily, “Anyway, they put me in a wheelchair and left me at the hospital. During the entire time, I was being handled with care, but Tiger–assuming it was him–was also acting as though I was extremely dangerous; the Chameleon wasn’t as cautious.” He looked at Mallory, “I am quite certain I would have success seducing him if I saw him again. In fact, I suspect he’d be trying to seduce me.”

Mycroft could certainly see why the man would want to seduce him: intelligent; observant; good looking, in a dangerous sort of fashion. If the edge of danger was a plus instead of a minus to this Chameleon, he’d be quite irresistible.

Mallory nodded slowly. “You are often quite good at parsing through relationships: what do you think the relationship is between those two?”

Mycroft sat forward attentively.

“That’s the problem, Sir: it was muddled. The Chameleon was clearly in charge on scene, he expected to be obeyed by the Russians, and he had kill authority, and so on. The way he said ‘Don’t worry, Tiger, I won’t hurt your British Lion’ implied that he could, in fact, have overruled Tiger’s wishes and hurt me, but chose not to…” Bond frowned, “It switched once I was tranquilized. The Chameleon yielded to Tiger’s expertise and authority on how to handle me, specifically. As I said, muddled.”

Mycroft nodded slowly. “Based on what you have said, I am going to have to guess that they are near equal in authority, but perhaps in different areas? And the Chameleon was in charge on that mission–he was in field command. When you were spotted, Tiger–likely on duty as a sniper–identified you and the dynamic shifted.”

“So something about it was personal,” Bond nodded, “which would explain why I was called James–it was personal.”

Mycroft nodded. “Try to work up an image of your Chameleon, but I don’t hold out much hope. Still, many of our interrogations have described–” Mycroft froze. Descriptions sorted quickly in his mind.

“Sir?” Mallory asked, frowning.

“The man at the last meeting, the agent who was drugged, was a small, dark-haired, gay man, whose guards obviously hated and dismissed him. His guards were killed shortly after the meeting ended.” Mycroft was filing facts together quickly. “A man who negotiated for Moriarty while under the laser sight of a sniper’s rife was described as soft, bookish, dark-haired–almost wet himself repeating what Moriarty told him. When one of my agents interviewed for a position in Moriarty’s organization, his last interview was with a pleasant, dark-haired man who quoted pop culture references all the time, and sounded American.” Mycroft looked up. “This one was passing for Russian, gay–or, at least, interested in you–dark-haired, intelligent, short to medium height… all the same man.” Mycroft sat back in amazement. “We’ve overlooked the fellow because he has always appeared as a minor functionary, disposable…”

“That’s what Chameleons do,” Mallory nodded.

“Moriarty has at least two lieutenants then, not just Tiger, and the man who got drugged would of course want to get his revenge in person.”

Bond nodded, “But if it’s personal, then someone else would go to be the voice of reason, so Tiger was there–” Bond grinned ferally, “Oh! We’re wrong!”

“Wrong?” _What did he see that I missed?_

“Or rather, the descriptions: they’re wrong. He was working under threat from a sniper? No, that was his BACKUP: Tiger. He was being sneered at by the guards? And the guards end up dead, but somewhere Tiger was keeping the real eye on him with a sniper scope. They must routinely work together, just no one NOTICES the Chameleon is the same man.”

Mycroft almost gasped at the brilliance of it. “So, of course, the Chameleon would want to keep Tiger happy, and if he had an interest in you?”

“Precisely. The question is, why? Did he owe me for something? I’ve done enough missions where someone could feel they owed me. I suppose I could have slept with him?” Bond shook his head, “I don’t know. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the Chameleon wanted to collect me, but the dropping me off at the hospital speaks of someone repaying a debt.”

Mycroft nodded. _It did._ “Start researching, gentlemen. In the meantime, I now know to keep an eye open for a specific agent of Moriarty’s, not just a disposable pawn.”

~

Bond hadn’t intended to give away as much as he had, but Holmes was unexpected. Bond didn’t usually meet people who were that intelligent, competent, and also supposedly on his side.

 _The fellow reminds me of M_ , Bond thought suddenly with a degree of wistfulness.

After a moment he reevaluated, _Which means he will send you into a deadly mission, withhold information, and quite probably get you killed if he’s convinced it’s for the good of England, just like she would–only he doesn’t have any personal fondness for you._

_Not that that ever stopped her, mind you–it just meant his funeral would have been nicer._

Still, he hadn’t told them everything, just most of it. _Now to go track down a Chameleon, and possibly a Tiger, and find out what was going on…_

If he was a lion, to them, then it was about time he went hunting. Britain was his territory after all: if they were here, he was going to find them.


	2. Fantasy and Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angst, and irony

Bond didn’t like mysteries–he especially disliked them when his life depended on them. Not that he wasn’t happy to have been spared, but it was the not knowing WHY. The Chameleon had been interested in him, that was certain, and MI6 was working on identifying him, but…

 _They only tell me what they think I need to know, and, as this last mission proved, sometimes that’s not enough. But, then again_ , he smiled darkly, _they aren’t the only ones who can keep information to themselves._

He knew that Q officially hated his guts, and was always upset that he never returned his equipment. Everyone knew that. Unofficially though, Bond recognized that Q had an attraction to him that often ended up with him getting equipment just a BIT before it should have been authorized. It also meant that he’d gotten the man’s direct phone number out of him once.

Besides, he could respect Q: he was the best at what he did, and if anyone could narrow down the search for their Chameleon, he could. He waited a week after the debriefing, and then a few days to Q’s usual day to work out of the office, and placed a phone call.

Q’s voice was tense as he answered, “I’m not in the office, what is it?”

“I need some help finding someone, and I’d like the office kept out of it–that’s why I called you off hours. Just tell me where you are and I can pick you up.” Bond thought about it and added, “I’ll owe you seriously, Q, but I need to get started on this now.”

 “Now?” _Interesting, he sounded hesitant. I wonder what he’s up to_? “Well… I suppose you could pick me up at the university; I’m at Cambridge.”

“I can be there in just a few minutes,” _–Especially since I knew you went to Cambridge and I’m already halfway there–_ “it’s really quite urgent.” _After all, eventually Mallory will put you on it and I need to get to you first._

“When is it NOT urgent,–. Math College, I’ll meet you out front.”

~

Q sat morosely in the passenger seat. Bond clearly just wanted to use him–again–and every time he gave into him it, just made him feel worse.

“Something bothering you, Q?” Bond asked idly from the driver’s seat, as if he cared.

“I’m getting dragged out of an interesting meeting with a math professor, and a potential date, to go do a personal favor for a man who couldn’t care less that I exist most days–of course something’s bothering me!”

“I assure you Q, I care deeply that you exist.” Bond sounded amused, of course. “A date? Good for you. Who is she?”

“First of all, if I told you, you would probably go steal them away from me just to be aggravating, even though you don’t know them or care about math–which leads me gratefully to point two: they’re male.”

“First of all, I’m neither that desperate, nor do I dislike you; secondly–I’m bisexual, so who cares.” Bond was smirking.

“I know.” _It’s just me you aren’t interested in._ “But since he’s another skinny geek like me, I assume you won’t be interested.”

Bond glanced at him thoughtfully, “You aren’t my typical taste in men, no,” he looked back at the road, “but you’re growing on me.”

“You’re an inveterate liar and you’re just using me for my computer skills, so get on with it,” Q snapped, trying not to let his hopes get abused again.

“I was captured on my last mission.”

“So? I knew that. Your trackers got disabled. Eventually you escaped and got to the hospital–as usual.” Q paused. “Well, except for the hospital part–you usually drag yourself home all by yourself. Cute nurse?”

“This part is need-to-know, Q: I didn’t get myself out. Another group killed the people who took me down, and two of them decided to drug me and take me off to the hospital–after one of them identified me.”

“Allies?”

“Enemies–or, at least, people of interest.”

“Then why?”

“That’s what I need your help with. I only got a good look at one of them–and that through black eyes– but I did overhear a little bit, and I want help tracking them down.”

“So? Mallory will put me on it”

“I want to get to them first. It’s personal.”

“You want to kill them?”

Bond paused, “I want to give them a chance to get away, if I can, probably… As I said, it’s personal. They could have killed me easily, they could have captured me–and the Chameleon wanted to, I think–but they didn’t.”

“Chameleon?”

“The only one I got a good look at. About five foot eight, give or take, brown hair, dark eyes, built thin–although he had some muscle under there–gay or bisexual, intelligent, multi-lingual–”

~

Q started laughing hard enough to choke on his drink.

“What’s so funny, Q? And don’t spit up in the car, I just got the bloodstains out finally.”

“You just described me, the math professor, and about six other geeks I know–oh, and Mallory, if you adjust the height.”

Bond had to double take. They didn’t look anything alike in fact, but yes Q met the basic description on paper. “No,” he tried to think of how to describe the difference, “this guy is a killer.”

“So am I.”

Bond paused. _Well… Yes, I suppose._ “I don’t think of you that way,” he admitted. “I know you’re good with a computer–”

“I can beat the marksmanship scores of most of the Double-Os, Bond; I test all your weapons before you get them. Most of Q branch can.” He smirked, “And most of us are brunettes, multi-lingual and so on.”

Bond winced. “Alright, I may have thought this would be easier than it is.”

“Just give me the facts, Bond,” Q sighed.

Bond went over the story again, watching as Q tried NOT to let on how turned on he was by it all. They got to Q’s apartment partway through and he finished up over tea while fending off Q’s cats.

~

“Any idea where he might be?” Q sighed. “Because that description is very broad, and I can’t program in ‘how he kissed’ to search parameters.” _Much as I might wish I could._

“That’s the part I didn’t tell Mallory or his guest. The last thing I heard before they put in earplugs was said in English. I told them he was probably UK, but I heard him in English–I think with an Irish accent–and I’m pretty sure Tiger was speaking English. The fact that they spoke English when they were alone…”

“So it’s probably their most fluent common language, and, besides, Moriarty is based here.”

“You’ve heard of him?”

“He’s a boogey man in the underworld and a rumored asset in most illicit communities–of course I’ve heard of him.” Q sighed, “At least I’ve heard the rumors, which are mostly false, of course. Tiger is his sniper and supposedly invulnerable, able to take on gangs of trained killers with ease etcetera, etcetera. You know how rumors go.”

“Well, he has a Chameleon and a Tiger, and Tiger at least had some idea of what I was capable of, and identified me on sight. As I said, he also seems likely to be the one who told the Chameleon I wasn’t adverse to men, so I’m guessing he knew me, and felt like he owed me one.”

Q nodded–getting into several systems that MI6 wouldn’t be happy he could get into from home–“And you want to get there ahead of the official search, potentially to tell these people that MI6 is after them and give them a chance to run.”

“Potentially, although I might end up just shooting them myself,” Bond nodded.

“That’s at least potential treason, you know.”

“So was–”

“I know, don’t remind me,” Q snapped. “You never even bothered to PRETEND to any concern for my feelings, you know.”

Bond sat back. “Q… I don’t just seduce you and get it over with because I DO care about your feelings.”

Q froze, hands stilling over the keyboard. “What?”

“You’re probably the closest thing to a friend I have since Alec,” Bond suddenly sounded very old. “Why the hell would I want to ruin that by using you for sex?”

Q blinked at him a lot. “Why would it be any different? You use me without sex.”

Bond just looked at him, “Can you honestly tell me that it wouldn’t hurt your feelings MORE if I was sleeping with you?”

“Can’t you DATE? Or…”

“The last time I had a relationship that was real, and not actually business, it lasted less than a month and ended up with him dead. The time before that, it lasted less than two months and she turned out to be a spy using me for business. The time before that… well, I could go on.” Bond sat back on the sofa, idly petting a cat. “Sex is sex. I think you’d rather be a friend–at least Alec died on a mission, and it wasn’t my fault.”

“Umm… Who’s Alec?”

“Oh, right, that was before your time.” Bond looked a million miles away. “We practically grew up together. Alec Trevelyan, Double-O Six, we were hellraisers together, M finally split us up on most missions because she thought we were bad influences on each other, also it was getting recognizable. He died on a mission.”

“I’m sorry.” Q felt a bit lost. _Bond never showed this much emotion, ever._ “He sounds like he would have been interesting to meet.”

“Straight, sadly for you.” Bond smiled wistfully, “He did alright when it was business, but always preferred girls. We had a few crazy threesomes though.”

Q silently vowed to look up the records on this Alec, so he could picture him properly when this unquestionably gave him disturbingly sexy dreams.

Bond shook his head, “And now I’m getting all maudlin.” He muttered, “Maybe I really should retire.”

“I– I’ll try to keep the programs looking for your Chameleon, Bond. I don’t hold out much hope though with such a common look.”

“That’s the trouble with Chameleons,” Bond admitted. “Well, keep an eye open for Moriarty’s activities, maybe we can track from there.”

Bond nodded and got up. “Sorry to interrupt your day off, Q.” He looked at him solemnly, “Honestly, Q? You don’t want to get involved with me that way: I’ll just get you killed or break your heart.”

“I told James that.” Seeing Bond’s confusion, he smiled, “The math professor: his name is James, too.”

Bond laughed, “Okay… Well, go out with him, then. Some of those quiet guys are pretty surprising in bed.”

“Well, we’re both five foot nine brunettes who speak multiple languages, and I’m actually working for MI6… I suppose it’s possible he could secretly be a contract killer or something,” Q joked. “You could identify him by the chalk dust left behind at the murder sites.”

Bond picked up the other cat–who seemed intent on being either stepped on or tripping him as he tried to get to the door–and said, “Seriously? Get out, date someone outside of work–if you actually find anyone outside of work. You deserve a nice, safe, normal relationship.”

Q showed him out and sighed, leaning back against the door. “Yeah, but I don’t WANT a nice, safe, normal relationship!” _Still, Professor James was funny, intelligent, and there was some little spark that said he probably led a crazy life when he was younger or something_. A momentary vision of Watcher Giles and his crazy youth as “Ripper” flashed through his head. _You’ve been watching WAY too much telly,_ he scolded himself. _James Ó Muircheartaigh is absolutely not secretly anything. He’s a nice guy who has a good sense of humor and is utterly brilliant in math, that’s all._

_I only WISH he was secretly something exciting and dangerous._


	3. Having You For Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q (as Benjamin, Cyber security expert) asks the math professor out on a date.

Much to Jim’s surprise, Benjamin called him later that afternoon–oops, almost dinnertime.

“I know it’s rather short notice, but could I interest you in dinner?”

Jim started rescheduling quickly, “Absolutely! I had nothing planned at all.” _Kill Horace later, re-schedule the conference with the Bulgarian, tell Tiger I’ll be out._ “What did you have in mind?”

“I actually have no idea; I haven’t been on a date in ages.”

“I know a nice little restaurant… and it’s not far from a club if you wanted music after?” Jim paused, “but it’s in London, proper, not out–”

“Oh that’s wonderful!” Benjamin sounded relieved, “um… my  work, and my apartment are in town. I just come out to the college to talk on my day off.”

“Oh, that’s convenient!  We could meet at the restaurant?”  Jim told him the address. “Its nice casual… same as the club.”

~

 _This has got to be the most awkward dinner date I have ever been on_ , Jim thought to himself as he tried to encourage Benjamin to calm down, stop stuttering, and please don’t choke on your dinner.

“Ben… Benjamin…” Jim sighed, leaned forward and grabbed Ben’s wrist. “Stop.”

He stared at Jim with these big wide eyes. “I’m… err…”

“Nervous as hell and making me twitch. Look, either go back to talking about math proofs and cyber security, your ‘not my boyfriend’ James, or just sit quietly and eat, but honestly… if it’s that horrible a date, please just–”

“It’s not that…” Ben sighed. Jim noticed that he hadn’t pulled his hand away, and seemed a bit more settled. “I… I literally haven’t been out with anyone except people I work with in over three years, and they aren’t dates.”

“So what happened with James?”

“Oh, uh… he just wanted me to do some computer work for him.  It’s all he ever wants, but…”

“But?” Jim tugged on Ben’s wrist and pulled him a tiny bit closer. _Hmmm…_

“He said he wasn’t interested in me that way, and he had… that he’d like to be friends, and yeah he knows I have a… anyway he suggested I go out on a date with a nice ordinary  person that isn’t…” Ben sagged, “I don’t WANT a safe normal relationship.  I’m really sorry, James, but–”

Jim fought to keep the grin off his face.  _Bond had given him the “go get yourself a settle down type” speech? Seriously?_

“First of all, Ben, Please call me Jim.  With two James in this story it’s going to be confusing.” He tightened his grip on Ben’s wrist when he started to talk and Ben shut up looking a bit startled, “Secondly, I really think you’re making assumptions about safe and normal.  Why don’t we go to the club, get some loud music and stupidly strong drinks, and settle this properly?” Jim let go of his wrist. “I can be very nice, Ben, but no way in hell am I ordinary.”

Benjamin kept giving him this stupidly hopeful look while he paid for dinner–over Ben’s protests– and walked them over to the club. It was one of his clubs, naturally, through about five holding companies.  Most of the business was perfectly mundane, and it was a nice club.

The bouncer only knew Jim as one of Moriarty’s agents of course, and gave him a polite nod as they went in.

“Don’t they normally check IDs or something?”

“Yes, but I’m known here, and you’re with me.”  Jim walked them over to the bar, “My usual Linda. What would you like Ben?”

“Err… what’s your usual?”

“Irish whisky, the good stuff– they keep a bottle under the counter for me.”

“You… go clubbing a lot for a math professor.”

“Could be worse, I could be a librarian, those lunatics will drink you under a table.  So do you like straight whisky or something sweet?”

“Sweet?”

“Linda, give him one of the house specials, don’t water it, and don’t give him a second unless I okay it.”

“Yes, sir.” She grinned at him, “He’s cute.”

Ben flushed worse than he had in the office.  Jim just grinned at her, “Yeah, he’s adorable.”

Jim steered them both to a little table in a corner. “I know that looks like neon food coloring, and tastes like fruit punch, but it’s pretty strong, so drink it slowly and have some water.”

“I… um… thanks. I really don’t quite know what to do.” Ben sighed, “Look, you know I work in cyber security, and I can’t really talk about my job, or my work, and my whole LIFE is at work, so I don’t really know what to talk about.” He sighed, “and James just told me flat out he would, in fact, end up dumping me on my ass if we went out, but we could be friends…”

“Well, looks like that James was honest at least.  So… you don’t want safe, normal, or ordinary,” Jim grinned at him. “Well, if you go out with me I can pretty well guarantee that.”

“It’s not that I want…” Ben trailed off and finally stared morosely into his drink. “Fuck it. I have no idea what I want.”

“Well what I want is to have my drink, do everything short of fucking you on the dance floor, and then take you home for the night and make you scream my name.  If that sounds good we can start there, otherwise let me know where in this date you want to bail out, and you go home.” Jim said it all very casually, watching Benjamin for his reaction.

Ben’s eyes went almost comically wide. “That, uh… sounds…You’re sure you’re just a math professor?”

Jim grinned wickedly at him, “I am in fact a math professor, but I never said a word about ‘just’. Tell you what, Ben, in the office? I’m just a math professor: out of the office? What would you LIKE me to be?”

~

Q felt like this was some sort of bizarre dream– a dream that wouldn’t have been bizarre at all if the other man was Bond, but…

Jim did, in fact, do everything short of actually fucking him on the dance floor.  By the time Jim suggested going back to his place, Q felt light headed, and it WASN’T all from the drink. He wanted this to go on, he wanted everything Jim’s wicked smirk promised, but it couldn’t possibly live up to his fantasies…

“I should go home.” Q whispered, as Jim escorted him out of the club.

“Do you want to?” Jim ran a hand down his back and over his ass. “Because if you REALLY want to I put you in the cab and you go home, otherwise we BOTH get in the cab and go to my place.”

“I’d like to go to your place, but–”

Jim pulled him in with a hand on the back of his neck and kissed him.  Q had certainly kissed people before, but it was always either soft and careful, or sort of slobbery and drunk– this was like one of those romance or porn novels where they talked about “he plundered my mouth” or “kissed me like I was a possession.” No wonder those books always sounded like that, getting kissed like this ate your brain.

He went to Jim’s place. Apparently he’d just moved to this apartment recently from a smaller one, and was apologizing for the lack of amenities.

“I have a roommate, but he’s out of town.” Jim steered him through an expensive but sort of sterile looking living room to a rather bland looking bedroom.

Q looked around dubiously, “It doesn’t look like your office: your office looks like you.”

“Told you, just moved in,” Jim laughed. “Most of my stuff is at my old place, but it’s all in a pile of boxes.  I was supposed to be moving more tonight, but dinner with you sounded much more fun.”

“Yes, well, it’s… been…uh...g…” Jim was peeling clothes off of him and doing things to his neck that made him stutter.

“Any limits I should know about?”

“Limits?”

Jim stopped and pushed him onto the bed. He crawled on top of him and knelt over him, grinning.

“Let me point out that you expressly asked for “not safe”. Now, I don’t want to actually be unsafe, but a little risk is a fun thing. So the goal is to make this FEEL like you aren’t entirely safe, while you actually are- like a roller coaster.”

This already didn’t feel safe, and he totally didn’t care. “How-how do you do that?”

“Well first of all, by playing with restraints, and blindfolds and other things, but mostly because I’m giving you a safeword.”

That sounded familiar from briefings, it was like all the code words the Double Os dropped into conversations. “That’s a stop code, right?”

“Exactly. That way you can whimper and scream and say “stop” and I’ll ignore you but if you say your safeword we stop.”

“I can do that!” That was simple compared to  listening in on   spies conversation and trying to pick out key words.

“Pick a word you wouldn’t normally yell during sex.”

“I don’t normally yell AYTHING during sex!”

“You will with me.  How about Fibonacci?”

“Fibonacci means stop?”

“Yes, it does.” Jim smirked, “don’t be shy about telling me what you like.” He suddenly slipped a tie over Q’s eyes like a blindfold.  “Go ahead and scream, darling, absolutely no one can hear you but me…”

*

James Bond went out and quietly started talking to all the wrong people. MI6 hated it when the Double Os made contacts within England, but they all did–habit, after all. So James quietly talked to some pub owners, and a few people both in high society and… out of it.

It was unlikely that he would find The Tiger or The Chameleon this way but it was what he had. Q was far more likely to get a lead on them.  What was interesting though was that by the end of the night he had started hearing whispers about this Moriarty fellow; he was apparently quite well known in the lower circles.

Q had said Moriarty was something of a bogeyman in the criminal world–he was right.  The thing is no one seemed to have any clear ides about the man; he pretty strictly worked through agents. Everyone knew what “The Tiger” looked like, except their stories had the type of detail and sameness that spoke of rumor, rather than fact.

Bond spent a great deal of the night seducing people and convincing them to call him if they heard anything, or to tell him things, or whatever– it was tedious. He’d love to be able to just go on a date without an ulterior motive… without waiting for the knife in his back.  

He hoped Q did go out with that math professor.  Q was a genuinely nice guy–assuming you returned your equipment– and the last thing he needed was to get involved with a Double O in his OFF time… He’d be a lot better off with some nice settled professor: intelligent enough to keep up with Q–who was after all a genius– but not involved in this line of work.

Bond managed to get home in the early morning to catch a few hours’ sleep.  He’d check in with Q later in the afternoon and see if he’d made any progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seriously, Librarians... don't try to party with them, you'll end up hungover with a tattoo.
> 
> BTW my friend Kyle Cassidy's book on librarians is available now "This is what a Librarian looks like"  
> https://www.amazon.com/This-What-Librarian-Looks-Like/dp/0316393983


	4. Hints and Allegations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were incidents and accidents, There were hints and allegations... "You Can Call me Al by Paul Simon (it seemed suitable)

Mycroft was simply going to have to murder his brother. After a moment’s consideration he amended that to having him committed. _No, he’d either just break out or ACTUALY go mad from the boredom_. He took an antacid and stared glumly at the paperwork on his desk. 

Well, at least Sherlock’s new flatmate wasn’t easily bought, that was something– if he had to have a lunatic roommate with an illegal pistol at least the man seemed to LIKE Sherlock– God knew why.

 _He almost took a poison pill just to prove he was right_ –Mycroft tried not to bang his head on the desk– and now it appeared that Moriarty was sending him clues and blowing things up.

“Sir?” Anthea was standing in the doorway, “Are you alright?”

“My brother.” He said, knowing she’d understand. She nodded and told him about his next appointment.

Moriarty had made this personal; _how did he even find OUT about Sherlock?  Could it honestly be just that Sherlock got in his way? Or was this, like so many other activities, aimed at me?_

*

Q went into work the next morning almost on autopilot.  _Thank God yesterday was my day out of the office and they don’t know I’m wearing the same clothes._   James–Jim– had very kindly helped him get re-dressed–even steamed out the wrinkles in his shirt– and fed him a simple breakfast before calling him a cab.

“I have a lot of work this week, but I might be free this weekend for a bit, and of course you know I’m free next Wednesday.” Jim had said it softly, then kissed him gently on the lips and put him in the cab. It felt like his lips were burning from the contact.

He’d just sat in the cab rather stupidly until the cabbie finally asked him where to go. He’d given the public access address without even thinking.  He managed to pull his wits together by the time they got there. Jim had apparently paid the cabbie, so he just tipped him and went in to work.

Jim had somehow managed to keep every mark well below the collar line, but he still felt like people were staring at him....

…

“That must have been a really hot date last night,” Newton– one of the techs– commented with a grin as he was trying to work on the new trace program.

“What makes you say that?” he resisted the urge to look up at him and tried to keep from rubbing at one of the interesting marks just under his shirt.

“You’ve been acting like it.” Newton shrugged “that and you left your tea cup on your desk without drinking it and got a new cup of tea– twice.”

“Oh….” He was certain he blushed. “Well, yes, as it happens. Please don’t talk about it.”

Newton stared at him, “Sir?... the entire department has been doing nothing BUT talking about it all morning. There are BETS…”

Q retreated to his office until he could get his dignity back together.

*

Sebastian looked up as Jim came in–he had that particularly SMUG look that said his evening had gone very well indeed.

“Obviously worth all the rescheduling, Sir.” Sebastian grinned at him.

Jim came up and pulled him down into a VERY enthusiastic kiss. “Oh, I’d say so.” Jim smirked up at him. “If I didn’t have plans for today I’d stay home and go over it all, in detail.”

“You had a date?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow, _Jim normally only rescheduled for work…_

“I had a date– with someone who works in cybersecurity– that I’ve been trying to pick up at the college for simply aaaages.  Turns out the poor boy didn’t even know I was flirting.”

Sebastian handed him a mug of coffee and an apple turnover.  Jim made very appreciative noises.

“Didn’t even know you were…? Uh... he’s not very bright?”

“Oh TERRIBLY smart, Sebie, just a rather inexperienced gay  computer geek, who’s probably used to misreading  friendly as flirting, and getting in trouble, so he  ignores it.” Jim smirked and added, “That and he has a horrible crush on a co-worker.”

“That never works out well.” Sebastian was getting suspicious. Jim had that look of malevolent glee he always got right before he revealed his current evil plot.

Jim put on a mock sad look, “Oh, not at all. Poor Benjamin–not his real name but it’s a good fake ID– just got the ‘I’d just break your heart, go find a nice settled type like that math professor you were  talking about,’ speech from his crush….” Jim was starting to snicker toward the end of that.

Sebastian grinned “Someone actually suggested he date you because…” Sebastian started snickering. “Oh Lord! That is funny.”

“Oh it’s even funnier, Sebie, it’s even funnier.  You see his crush just snaps his fingers and expects him to come running and do his computer work for him. Poor Ben told me at the office that James–his name is James, too– has a track record of just using people and tossing them aside.  I did tell the poor boy over drinks that at least his coworker was HONEST with him…” Jim’s grin was getting sharper and broader, “I don’t think he got the double entendre that I wasn’t being honest, but by that point I had him pretty well on a leash.”

Jim finished the turnover and looked mournfully at the empty plate, “That was delicious, but I don’t have time for a second, I need to get to that computer tech job at the hospital–luckily I start late.”

“So? Are you picking up a new computer tech to play with?”

“Oh, I think so, Tiger.  James Moriarty slipped out just a bit.”

Images of strawberries and knives flashed across his mind and he fought his libido down and swallowed hard, “Is there anything LEFT of him?”

“Oh yes.  We need to decorate the flat I took him to, and I need to get some toys in–mostly restraints for now, but… maybe a violet wand?” Jim was swinging his leg happily, and smiling at him with that really unsettlingly wide grin, and…

“Can you maybe show up late to work today?” Sebastian asked him slowly, “I made whipped cream for the turnovers… I have some left.”

“Sadly no, but I’ll take a rain check for tonight,” Jim looked like he was struggling to switch into character and failing.

“You know what makes this all even better, Sebie?”

“Noooo…. But from the way you’re acting it must be something else.”

“Ben’s crush? The fellow who told him, ‘I’d just break your heart, go find some nice, normal ordinary fellow’?” Sebastian nodded. “The one who called Ben on his day off to do some computer work for him and is a coworker?”  Jim was almost singing the words by this point.

The longer this went on the more worried Sebastian got. “Yes?”

“I watched as he picked up poor Ben at the college– didn’t even buy him lunch, the cad.”

“So do we want to have him shot for being a cad?” Sebastian asked hesitantly, “or picked up and taught a lesson? Or what?”

“Oh I’d LOVE to pick him up and teach him a lesson, Tiger, but you made me drop James off at the hospital last time.” Jim slid off the chair and sauntered off to get changed.

Blink… blink… _James? Coworker? Cyber security? Hospital?_ “MY JAMES?!!”

Jim just sang out from the bedroom, “Isn’t it DELICIOUS?”

_Oh dear God…_

*

Bond came in late, which wasn’t remarkable as he was technically still on down time. He did his usual flirting with the secretaries–his mind on other things. Went down to the range and did some shooting…

A couple of the techs were in the observation room making adjustments to some weaponry and talking, secure in the knowledge that no one in the range could hear them–not with headphones on and a bulletproof glass in the way.  Bond, like most Double Os, amused himself by lip reading.

“–actually had a DATE?! Our Q?” from one of the techs.  That got Bond’s full attention, so he made a point of slowly considering an apparent smudge on a scope.

“He’s acting completely dazed, must have been a good one!”

“Could just be lack of sleep, he never sleeps enough.”

“Mark says he saw him checking out a love bite in the bathroom.”

Sadly he had to go back to shooting after that, and the next time he could have looked back they were leaving.  _Q?  love bite? Date?_   Bond thought about it… _he’d been upset and hurt at being let down, even if I did try to do it gently.  I hope he didn’t do anything stupid…_

He went back to medical to get his official status updated– and because the best gossip in the building worked there.  Seriously, it was a waste of resources not putting her to work spying, but since it worked in Bond’s favor he wasn’t going to complain.

“Hello, Doris,” Bond favored her with one of his rare smiles, “Care for lunch?”

“I already HAD lunch, James,” she looked amused at him, “but I could be talked into dinner sometime.”

“As it happens, I have a gift card for one of your favorite restaurants…” he held the card up between two fingers.  She gestured him to follow her into one of the smaller rooms.  If anyone saw them they would probably assume they were screwing in there, which was all to the good for Doris because it kept anyone from asking pesky questions about her female roommate.

Doris plucked the card out of his fingers, “So it WASN’T you out with our Quartermaster last night?”

“No. I did see him yesterday afternoon, but nothing happened. What’s the dish?”

“Running bets on who it was–you’re not in the top spot, most people still don’t know how much of a crush he has on you– a few people who don’t know him that well are betting on a girl.”

“That’s all you’ve GOT?” he was profoundly disappointed.

She snorted, “Don’t be silly.  He had kiss bruises in multiple places, and he rubs at his wrists when he thinks no one is looking.”

Bond frowned, “happy or sad about that?”

“He looked pleased and a bit stunned, actually,” she smirked, “you aren’t the jealous type…”

“I told him it was never going to happen yesterday afternoon; I’m worried he got in over his head on a rebound.”

She looked enlightened. “Then in THAT case I will tell you one other tidbit…”

“Dinner for two with the trimmings and a good wine? I would hope you’d tell me all of it.”

“Always leave them wanting more, James… he came in by cab and got dropped off at the front, so he never went home last night.”

“Interesting…” James nodded, “Have a great dinner, and say hi to Laura for me.” He kissed her on the cheek.

He made a show of straightening his jacket as he left the room.  Doris would come out a few minutes later a bit flushed, and everyone would make the usual assumptions. Thankfully Doris was loyal and only traded in gossip in-house: that and she obligingly only spread the gossip about Bond that he WANTED spread.

He walked into the Quatermaster’s branch and looked around–no sign of him on the floor…

“Anyone seen the Quartermaster?”

“Office!” someone sang out.  He headed that way.

“Um… he’s in a bit of a mood, Sir.” One of the techs warned him as he raised his hand to knock.

“Oh, in that case…” he walked in without knocking.

“God DAMN it Bond what have I told you!” Q snapped at him as he straightened up from doing something to an eviscerated computer.

Bod shut the door and hit the white noise generator, “That you DON’T want rumors getting around that your hot date was me, so I made sure you snarled at me the way you usually do?”

Q blinked at him rather blankly for a moment and then sagged into his chair. “Just HOW far has this gone? What, do I have a SIGN on me?”

Bond looked him over, “To trained spies and observers? Yes.  So who was he?”

“Well, you were right,” to Bond’s raised eyebrow he continued, “The quiet types being surprising in bed?”

“Ah?”

Q sighed, “I figured I might as well give it a try with James– James Ó Muircheartaigh , the math professor?”

“Oh!” Bond was quite relieved, “I was worried you’d gone off with some stranger.”

“Good God no,” Q made a face, “I called and asked about meeting him for dinner even if it was last minute, and we met at the restaurant, and then he took me to a dance club.”

“And a bit more than that from what I’ve heard.” Bond said approvingly.

Q closed his eyes, “Do you have ANY idea how awkward this is?”

“No.” Bond did, of course, but why admit it. “So? He’s surprising in bed.  In a good way I trust?”

“Why,” Q got instantly suspicious, “Are you going to try to steal him away?”

Bond laughed, “No, I just LIKE you Q and I want to be sure you aren’t getting in any trouble because you’re upset.”

“Oh.” Q looked like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, “Well, um… yes. He was very clear about what he wanted, and very polite, and…. Um…” and sure enough Q was rubbing at his wrist.

“Handcuffs?”

Q jumped and stared at him. “Silk tie… how did you…?”

“You keep rubbing at your wrist when you think about sex.” The more Bond watched the more certain he was that Q had had a fabulous time, but was just a bit bewildered. “Did he talk to you about consent?”

“He, um, explained a safeword…” Q flushed.

“Good. That’s important.  If you’re ever playing control games you need one.  Did he stop when you asked him to?”

“It… um… never came up.” Bond smirked at the double entendre and Q flushed, “I mean I never used it!” Q snapped at him.

“Well, you might want to go over limits and so on before you get into bed.” Bond looked thoughtful, “Look up ‘Safe, Sane, and Consensual’ and “Risk Aware Consensual Kink’– SSC and RACK– and sit down and go over it with him before you play next time.” Bond stood up, “Seriously, Q, as long as he treats you well, can work with your limits, and isn’t a problem, that’s great.”

“Well, um… thank you, even if this is very strange.  He said he might have some time this weekend or again next Wednesday.”

“Told you when he was available but letting you  make the call? Good, sounds like he’s trying not to rush you.  If he’s into that sort of thing–and it would be obvious you haven’t played like that– he should give you the options.” Bond nodded, “Sounds promising.  Now if he gives you any trouble, you just call me and I’ll straighten him out, alright?”

“You sound like you’re trying to be my father.” Q smiled faintly and shook his head.

“Weren’t you the one saying I was that old?” Bond laughed, “Now get your grumpy face back on and chase me out.”

Bond left, cheerful and whistling, with Q ranting at him about agents and equipment– as usual.

_Good, one less thing to worry about; now I can focus on finding the Chameleon and the Tiger._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies about any grammar or spelling issues  
> comments are oxygen


	5. Working things out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly, Mycroft, Bond and Q...  
> and the strawberries are back

“Oh… um…. Jim?” Molly was obviously about to try to ask him out.

“Hmmm…? Yes, Molly?” He smiled up at her, firmly in his gay, cute, slightly shy computer geek persona.

“Would… you said we could go out for coffee sometime…”

Jim looked confused, “You said you had someone…”

“Yes, well…” _He dumped her? No… she’d tried and been completely shut down– I didn’t think she was actually dating him_. “Apparently he didn’t think so.”

“Aw, Molly…” he came over and patted her shoulder and listened to her sniffle about Sherlock. Eventually they arranged a date to go get coffee.

…

“I have never been so glad to get away from a girl in my LIFE!” Jim called out as he got home.

Sebastian called from the other room, “Why?”

“She’s completely hung up on Sherlock– who treats her utterly horribly– and I can’t even DO anything really until after the plans are further underway. Also I have to watch ‘Glee’, I may have implied I was a big fan.”

Jim walked into the other room and stopped.  Sebastian was working out, wearing nothing but a jock strap; there was a bowl of fresh strawberries, whipped cream in a bowl on ice, and a chilled bottle of Champagne on the table.  Whatever was left of ‘Jim from IT’ dropped away and James Moriarty cracked his neck…

“Such a ­_considerate_ Tiger…” James purred at him– Sebastian slowly let the weights down.

~

How Jim–James– managed to look like that in THOSE clothes, Sebastian hadn’t a clue.

“So, Oxford Boy, want to add to your stripes?”

“It somehow seems like a good idea when you suggest it,” he admitted.

James Moriarty smiled lazily at him and ran a finger over his shoulders. “I have a better idea… Stay there.”

_Not going ANYWHERE…_

He came back wearing nothing but a robe and carrying a bag. “I liked watching you work out, but I think you need to be wearing a bit more…” he held up a pair of handcuffs and smirked.

Sebastian felt a bit dubious about it, but he let James handcuff him to the grip of the machine…

James slid up behind him. “Now,” he purred into his ear, “Let me see those muscles work some more.”

Sebastian obliged by doing more of his back and upper body work, while… Jim… James…whoever… started painting his muscles with whipped cream and… licking. He tried very hard to focus on breathing and proper lift technique.

Every now and then Jim had him hold the weights while he fed him a strawberry, or a mouthful of champagne.  Trying to hold your arms and shoulder muscles steady while Jim licked whipped cream off of your nipples turned out to be a LOT more difficult than it sounded.

After a while, Jim had him stop. Sebastian felt like his arms and back were on fire, and only some of that was from Jim.  Jim moved around to the front of him, “Aren’t you just yummy all sweaty and pumped up like that…” he was smirking in a way that Sebastian found both very worrisome, and extremely interesting. “Close your eyes.”

Sebastian closed them and heard a faint and familiar clicking sound… but then he was distracted.

“There…” Jim moved in and pulled him into a kiss. Sebastian distantly felt something cold slide against his hip… there was a faint pull… _Oh, he cut the jock strap._

Jim pulled the jock strap free and slid into his lap. Sebastian tried to bring his arms down and … _oh, right, handcuffed to the bar_ … he grabbed the bar, intending to pull it down behind Jim… it didn’t budge. _I knew I over did it with the arm work showing off, but what…?_

He opened his eyes and tried to pull himself back from the kiss, and James just moved his head to the side, his stubble faintly catching on Sebastian’s cheek as he breathed into his ear, “I set the weights to their highest setting, Tiger. I don’t think you can lift that much.”

_Oh, shit…_

Jim spent what Sebastian was certain were HOURS driving him mad.  The strawberries and whipped cream were long gone, the champagne drunk… and Sebastian suspected that James had fed most of it to him based on how insanely lightheaded he was.  By the time he re-set the weights to something easy to move, Sebastian was wrecked.

Somehow he ended up handcuffed to the bench. He was just being grateful that his arms were down–honestly he didn’t think he could move them anymore– when Jim climbed on top of him. “So, Oxford boy… Let’s see how you’ve been keeping up with those abdominals…”

He felt Jim push down onto him… it was heavenly…

The bastard wouldn’t move. Just sat there and occasionally rocked back and forth, or gently rolled his hips.  Sebastian very rapidly found out that lifting your hips using just your upper thighs and abdominal muscles was work…

When he finally couldn’t thrust, or lift his hips at all, or move… James leaned forward and licked Sebastian’s lips. “Don’t neglect your core so much.” _And thank you GOD he started to move…_

~

Jim didn’t see any way to move Sebastian to the bedroom– not without a derrick or a hand truck– so he dragged in a yoga mat and helped him to roll off the bench onto it.

Sebastian just moaned.

 _Well… fair is fair, and I may have been neglecting my own abs and thighs just a bit… besides, I have a big day tomorrow._ Jim lay down next to Sebastian and went to sleep.

*

Mycroft was convinced: his brother was trying to drive him mad.

He was running all over the city, practically holding up a TARGET on his head…and Moriarty was, in fact, communicating with him.  Admittedly he did point out that staying home wasn’t much safer– the explosives proved that– but did he HAVE to keep ducking away from any possible guards?

If he could only…

_Sigh. If I could only find an average height, average hair color, average eye color, any possible accent, American/British/French Chameleon, and a sniper no one has reliably seen, in a city they might not be in._

Mycroft took a headache pill and went to his club for some peace and quiet… and scotch.

*

Jim and Irene arrived at the embassy party.  Jim would have loved to be dressed to properly show off, but today he was just one more lesser diplomat from Eastern Europe.  Irene, though… Jim had to admit that when you gave the girl a budget she showed off well.

“Now Irene, darling, you just do your part and I’ll have no reason to be cross.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

He ran a hand down her back and  then proceeded to  get deeply involved in a discussion on currency trading, letting her go off to make contact with her  target.

He got home late, and looked over the past week’s surveillance photos on Sherlock’s flat.

 _Watson of course, LeStrade, other people of no importance, probably a client_ … _now who is this?  Tall, well dressed…_ he put in an identity request to his surveillance team and went to bed.

In the morning he had a response: Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s older brother, worked in the government in a minor functionary role and belonged to a short list of clubs.

_Oh yes, Sherlock had had an older brother, hadn’t he… he was already off at university by the time of Carl’s death._

Jim started looking him up.  To no surprise he had an advantage in getting his records: Mycroft Holmes went to Oxford–and graduated, unlike Sherlock who went to Cambridge and dropped out. After a very brief perusal of his records he resolved to look at the hard copy when he went back into the office– _something was wrong here, this didn’t make sense._

*

Jim listened to Molly going on about Sherlock.  If Jim HAD really been ‘Jim from IT’ trying to go out with her he would have run by now– and the poor girl would probably never know why.  If she kept driving off all the potential real romances like this it was no wonder…

Molly was desperately lonely, and had the self -esteem of a wilted fern. It didn’t take long to find out that Sherlock was the latest in a string of emotionally unavailable, intelligent men in her life who treated her like a personal servant.  At least Sherlock didn’t expect her to do his homework. _She’d tried to ask him out and he’d ordered her to fetch him coffee?! In her own lab?! That she was letting him use?!!…_

Jim was beginning to actually dis-like Sherlock, no matter how intelligent he might be. He had clever, brave, and loyal friends, and as far as Jim could tell he treated them all with complete indifference or outright abuse. Admittedly he’d grown up to be gorgeous, but having seen him lying in a drug house in his own waste, it was hard to excuse the bad behavior with his looks.

Once he planted the tracers on Sherlock, and got a good look at him up close, he was going to take poor Molly out and show her a good time.

He was getting more and more curious about Sherlock’s background… what could drive a man with literally EVERYTHING to throw it all away?  Maybe Mycroft knew the key to that? Jim started plotting how to arrange a casual chat with Sherlock’s brother.

*

Bond was being sent off on a mission into what MI6 still referred to as the Eastern bloc.  The briefing he got–and it must have come from Mycroft from the precision and nuance– indicated that this Moriarty fellow had criminal contacts out there.  There were, of course, a number of objectives, but he was to keep his eyes and ears open for any information about Moriarty, the Chameleon, or the Tiger.

He planned to– among other things.

Q was doing his best to outfit him properly. “–and try not to lose all of the tracers this time?”

“I don’t like tracers.”

Q started to ask why and Bond finally let the affect drop. _They were in his office, if anyone had a bug in here … well._

“I’m heading out to some of the same regions Alec was in, Q.” he said quietly. “He was captured, in part because of a tracer he had on him.”

Q froze. “What?”

“Alec, as far as we ever found out, was identified as a spy because they found the tracers.  That might even have been how they found him in the first place– he could pass for native; it wasn’t that he would have looked or sounded out of place.”

Bond sagged into a sofa that Q kept in his office. “One of my unofficial reasons for taking this mission was to see if any of the bastards that murdered him are still alive, and fix that.”

“Oh… Oh I’m… I’m sorry, Bond, I didn’t know.”

“No reason you would.”

“No one is finding any of my tracers, but…” Q was chewing on his lip. “I have one or two things that are still experimental. They MIGHT not work at all, but they only send a signal out if activated. I could put one or two of those into some equipment… set them to only activate if someone other than you tries to use them.”

“I suppose.” Bond sighed. “I’m going down to the range, how long would you need?”

“Just give me an hour, two if you can.”

*

Q sent Bond off on his mission– he looked like he always looked, like nothing at all ever touched him. Q couldn’t help but wonder how many people were fooled– he would have been.

He was then sucked into a technical problem that kept him busy and under slept. As soon as he looked up from that, he had to help Double O Five get access to a computer, and then he had to help one of the technical people figure out why  a security gate was letting people in it most definitely shouldn’t.

By the time he caught up on some of his sleep, it was Sunday… and he hadn’t called Jim _… He probably thinks I stood him up…_ It took an effort of nerve to call him–naturally he got the answering machine.

He was debating leaving a message on his answering machine when Jim picked up, just a touch out of breath.

“Ben?”

“Hi… I’m sorry for not calling, work’s been brutal…um… if you have any time I’d love to get together.”

“As it happens, I’m not doing anything I can’t put off… want to come over? I’m still unpacking a bit.”

“If… If you wouldn’t mind…”

*

Jim reminded him of the address and hung up the phone.  He stepped out of the office and smiled over at Sebastian, “Tiger? My computer security project just called, can you handle this?”

Sebastian looked up from assembling a bomb vest with one of the few other people who knew who they were and blinked a few times, “Oh, the cute one?”

Jim nodded. The other tech very studiously didn’t pay attention.

“Yeah, go have fun; this isn’t too much of a chore.”


	6. The Lion, The Marten, and the Mouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perspectives are based on the information you have... you can draw the best possible conclusion, but if your data is wrong... GIGO  
> TW for *attempted* assault/drugging

Bond wished he’d never seen the photos.  He’d broken into Alec’s file after his death, trying to find out more…now, sometimes when he went to remember Alec he saw him as he’d been in those images: beaten bloody, whipped, hair matted with blood until you couldn’t tell the color.  There was one photo of him lying dead or dying in a cell, you could see the frost on the concrete…

Bond forced himself to remember Alec drunk off his ass–well they both had been– as they let everyone out of the jail cell in sunny South America.  They’d locked the police in the jail, and ended up in a bar near a beach.  The next few days were a bit of a haze, but it had been warm, and sunny, and they were surrounded by beautiful girls… and that was how he wanted to remember Alec.

It took him several days to make his way quietly into the right region, but he would do his duty, and his job… and then avenge his friend.

*

When Q got to Jim’s flat it looked a lot more lived in, although there were still a lot of boxes. The door had been left open– he shut it behind him.

“Um… hi? Can I help?”

Jim looked up from the floor with a smile, “Probably, my flatmate is off at work somewhere so no help there!”

 _Oh. Oh, had a roomate he’d said…“_ Flatmate?” Q queried worriedly.

“Sebastian.” Jim nodded, “He works in security training so he travels a lot– it’s almost like living alone, really.  Anyway, I had to replace several of my books because the storage got damp…” he frowned and sighed.

“Oh… uh… you and–”

Jim handed him a couple of take-out menus, “What would you like? Oh... sorry, what were you asking?”

“You and um… Sebastian?”

Jim raised an eyebrow and grinned at him, “Occasionally spend the night in the same bed, when we’re both at home, yes.”

“I don’t want to get in between–”

“Sebastian already knows all about you– well not ALL about you, but enough. Also, sadly, you are not getting ‘between’ us… he’s not into boys.” Jim said the last with a distinctly amused tone.

“Is this some kind of slight?” Q narrowed his eyes, “he’s not into boys; he’s into men?”

Jim stared at him and then laughed, “My you HAVE been seeing all the wrong people, haven’t you? No, I don’t play THOSE games with people– well except over the research budget, then all bets are off– I mean it literally: he’s straight.”

Jim got up and walked up uncomfortably close. “You’re not intruding, Ben, and no; I’m not cheating on Sebastian with you.”

Q took a step backwards and tripped over a box; Jim caught him and pulled him back up– and into an embrace, he was stronger than he looked.

“If, um... he’s straight then why would he be having sex with you?”

“I’m an exception.” Jim grinned, “But he REALLY prefers girls.  He’s had a lot of opportunities with guys who are very good looking and never even batted an eyelash.”

“Oh, um…” Jim hadn’t let go of his arm, and his other arm was around him– both arms pinned, one way or another, and Jim was pressed up against him– Q felt like he should be uncomfortable– should try to move away– but he was arguing with himself and losing.

“So I think we should order food…” Jim said not letting go of him.  He leaned in and bit his way down Ben’s neck, “Because while you are VERY tasty, I think we need a bit more fuel.”

~

He’d been halfway through being fed dinner when he managed to bring up safewords.  Jim turned out to be quite willing to discuss limits, and safety, which was reassuring, but somehow he ended up agreeing to a lot of things that seemed perfectly reasonable at the time…

Q was suspended in space– literally.

Jim had promised to start what he smilingly referred to as his education ‘lightly’; with just ropes and bondage. The wrapping and tying had made him feel slightly drowsy, and for some reason that made Jim smile with that sharply unsettling smile…

“Oh, you’re a natural at this…” Jim’s voice purred as he slipped a blindfold over his eyes.

“I-I am?”

“Oh yes, you practically went under just from the ropes…” Q felt Jim petting him and tightening the ropes carefully, and then, “Lay back…” and a hand gently pushed him back… and he was in a hammock that wrapped and supported him.

“oooohhh….” Q felt vaguely like he was drugged as Jim adjusted ropes.  Eventually he was curled up as though he’d fallen asleep in a slightly oddly configured recliner…

Jim stroked him and petted him and everything was getting… syrupy.

“Now I’m going to put headphones on you darling boy…” And Jim slipped a pair over his ears and adjusted them.  They had the peculiarly echoing effect of top of the line noise canceling headphones, and suddenly the only way he had to know anything was Jim’s hands moving across him.

He thought about using a safeword, but Jim started stroking him, and then there was the sound of Jim’s voice in his ears… _Oh, it was a mathematics lecture_ – well over Q’s head, most of it, but not all of it– and he was suspended in space, and time, and he was nothing but sensation… and Jim’s voice…

~

Later Q would have a vague memory of being brought down, wrapped up in blankets and tucked into bed next to Jim.  He knew he was crying, but he didn’t know why; Jim held him and gave him water and eventually he fell asleep with his head on Jim’s shoulder.

~

Jim made sure he ate, and showered, and took care of him, but eventually he had to go back to work…

“Here, keep this,” Jim smiled and handed him a leather wrist cuff with a buckle.

“Sure… uh… why?” He didn’t want to go.

“If you feel a little ungrounded, it’s something to wear that’s snug, and something to fiddle with…” Jim smiled at him and ran a hand down his neck, “I’d love to send you to work wearing my collar, but that’s pretty serious.  Anyway, that was pretty intense, and I don’t want you feeling alone.”

“Oh… thank you…” Jim helped him put it on, and it did help.

“Lots of people get heavy watches, or have things in their pocket to fiddle with,” Jim gave him a hug as he sent him out, “Text me if you need to, and I’ll see you Friday?”

Q managed to dredge up the fact that too many agents had scheduled things to do Friday and Saturday, and he was going to have to keep an eye on it.  “Could… you know, computer work doesn’t follow a schedule, I think I’ll be done by Sunday, and I might have Monday off.”

“Then text me and let me know.”  Jim said with a smile.

“You’re not upset?”

“Never. When something comes up in my life I hope you’ll understand that some things just can’t be put off– why shouldn’t I extend the same courtesy to you?”

Jim was such a wonderful man, Bond had been right. Q went back in to work.

*

Molly was crushed.

She’d mostly gone out with Jim to make Sherlock jealous, really, but not only WASN’T he jealous, her boyfriend was gay… she spent some time crying in the bathroom and tried to pretend she was alright.

When she was done with work one of the technicians–Neville– offered to buy her something at the local pub.

“I’m really not in the mood,” she tried not to sniffle at him.

“Yeah, I heard… look, nothing serious, just friends… let me buy you a sandwich and a beer, okay?”

 _Just friends. That’s all I ever get._ “Sure, why not.”

The pub was too loud, but Neville didn’t mind that she had to go off to the ladies room and cry for a few minutes…

_Boy it was hot in here._

Neville helped her get outside, it was cooler but she felt sick.

“Molly?” familiar voice…

“She had too much to drink and I’m taking her home, buzz off.”

“Jim…?” she couldn’t open her eyes.

“Molly, are you alright?” Someone touched her neck and she leaned into it.

“I told you to fuck off.”

“You have one chance to hand her over and walk away.”

She fell, but it didn’t hurt… she heard a scuffle and then all she cared about was the cool pavement…

…

Someone very large was holding her under a shower.  “Wha?”

“Come on, Molly, Wake up…” she didn’t know the voice, but the rumble against her back said it was whoever was holding her?

…

“Molly?” Jim’s voice, and she wasn’t in a shower anymore… she focused and she was in a flat, much nicer than her own, and Jim was holding a cup of coffee to her lips.

“What happened?”

“The creep you were with damn near killed you,” Jim said gently, “I gave you flumazenil and you should be alright, but we’re going to watch you for a while.”

“That’s… for benzodiazepine overdoses?” She was trying to make sense of this; Jim didn’t look like himself…

“He gave you Rohypnol.”

“Wait… ‘We’?”

“Sebastian,” Jim nodded and she suddenly became aware of two things: one, she was wearing a silk bathrobe that she was quite certain she didn’t own, and two, she was sitting up against  a very large man, whose arms were holding her up while she drank coffee.

“Eep!”

“It’s alright, Molly,” Jim lifted her chin and looked at her eyes in a very professional fashion, “Good, you should be fine, but you are staying here for tonight so I can watch you.”

Jim was wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and nothing else.  She carefully looked around at the _… Oh HELL he was big, wide, solid muscle… and wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts…_

_And I’m just about in his lap…_

Molly cringed. Sebastian said, “Shh, shhh, no one’s going to hurt you!”

“You’re Jim’s boyfriend, aren’t you…” Molly started crying. “Why didn’t you TELL me, Jim? Couldn’t you at least not make a pass at Sherlock right in front of me?”

“Oh hell,” Sebastian grumbled behind her.

Jim sat there very quietly looking at her until she stopped crying and looked at him.  He didn’t look at all like sweet– and yes, gay, now that Sherlock had pointed it out– Jim, he just looked like he was thinking.

“Molly… I wasn’t making a pass at Sherlock– although I wouldn’t kick him out of my bed– and I think you need to stop chasing after people who are emotionally abusive.”

“Your accent’s different?”

“Yes, it is.” Jim sighed, “Sebie? Pick her up and bring her to bed, I need to make sure she doesn’t have any breathing problems, so no play time tonight.”

“What?” Molly tried to protest, but Jim spoke with authority and Sebastian just picked her up like she didn’t weigh anything. “I- I don’t want–”

“Molly, you are going to sleep in bed with us because I need to make sure you’re breathing properly. No one is going to touch you, except for rolling over in bed.”

“Because you’re both gay….” Molly felt utterly humiliated as she was put into a large and luxurious bed and Sebastian crawled in on one side of her and Jim on the other.

“Actually I’m mostly straight,” Sebastian said thoughtfully, “and Jim’s bi-ish.”

“What?”

Jim turned out the lights. “We will have a discussion in the morning, Molly, but the reason we’re not touching you tonight is because you were drugged and Sebastian is too much of a gentleman.”

She lay there with Sebastian a solid wall of muscle on one side of her and Jim on the other, trying to figure out what on earth was going on.

 


	7. betwween a rock and a hard  body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond is off on a mission, Q is doing research, Molly wakes up with Sebastian and Jim, and there are decisions... and strawberries
> 
> and i have to change my tags: Consent negotiation, mild dub con, canon typical violence

Bond took several days to handle the official mission, in the meantime gathering all the clues he could on Alec’s death.  To his everlasting gratitude Q dug through the computer files as well.

“He was very good looking,” Q said quietly at some point when it was very late, or very early, in Q branch and Bond was waiting for a target several time zones away.

“Yes, I suppose,” Bond mused, “It was more the way he carried himself, and the smile…”

Q could imagine that: Bond looked so much better in motion, with his eyes, and the way he moved, it only made sense that it was the same for Alec.

“I have some unpleasant information that I dug out of the files,” Q hesitated, “Do you want it now? Or later?”

“Later. I need my mind on this.” _As much as it can be, anyway._

*

Sebastian woke up in bed with a woman.  Not very long ago this would have simply been a matter of trying to figure out how much he drank, and if she was trying to kill him or not, but it simply didn’t happen that often now that Jim… _Jim was in bed too_. He carefully extricated himself and looked around. _Yes, they were in one of Jim’s usual flats…_

_Oh, right, this was Molly: the girl with no self-esteem letting that Sherlock fellow walk all over her.  Sebastian dredged up his memories: He’d dragged Jim out to a pub and Jim had seen the girl looking drugged, and they’d had to kill some would-be rapist prat.  Right… hospital trash compactors were handy things._

Sebastian padded off to make breakfast.

~

Molly woke up to the smell of breakfast and the certainty that she had done something she was going to regret... whenever she  remembered what it was.

Jim rolled over, “Sebastian?”

“Jim?!” Molly squeaked for a moment in confusion and then some bits and pieces of last night came back and she scrambled to pull the sheets around herself– she was nude. “Oh no, oh my God, oh no–”

So was Jim.

“For God’s sake, Molly, stop squealing.” Jim’s voice was much more like what she remembered from last night and not at all like Jim from IT.

“Breakfast!” a male voice called in.  _Sebastian; that was Jim’s…_

“What’s going Oonnnn?”

“Don’t WHINE, Molly,” Jim snapped– she shut up–“Honestly no wonder you have boyfriend problems, you have all the backbone of a noodle.” He got up and stalked out of the room, after a moment he looked back around the door, “Pull on a robe if you like, but we’ve both seen it all.”

Eventually she pulled on a vaguely familiar silk bathrobe and came out. Sebastian was putting down crepes, of all things, and cooking in nothing but pajama pants and an apron.

“Good morning, Molly, how are you feeling?” he asked her politely.

“Confused.”

“Jim isn’t sociable before his second cup of coffee or tea, so if you have questions I can try to answer them.” Sebastian said, putting a platter of crepes down in front of her and putting a second cup of coffee down in front of Jim. Jim was eating with a single minded intensity that implied a deep seated love affair with the food.

“Jim… was going out with me, and then Sherlock said he was gay, and he made a pass at him–”

“No, mostly, and no– or at least probably not.” Sebastian said thoughtfully.

“No, mostly, and I said I wouldn’t turn him down but I was actually getting a look at his computer screen and planting a tracker on him,” Jim said  while he made love to a fork full of crepe, “Sebastian is magnificent at everything , especially cooking, so eat first and ask later.”

Sebastian looked terribly pleased and gave Jim a look that made Molly feel distinctly like an interloper. She took a bite of the crepe…

“Oh my God, this is fantastic! Are you a chef?”

Sebastian smiled at her. “When I’m home I try to cook for Jim so he doesn’t live on take out.”

Sebastian sat down with his plate and Molly watched them eat.  It was pretty obvious they were a couple, down to the way Jim looked up at Sebastian and smiled– after his second cup of coffee, anyway.

“I refuse to have this discussion at the table, so grab a cup of tea or something and go into the living room.” Jim said after they were done and Sebastian was clearing the dishes.

Eventually they were all in the living room, Jim still naked.  She pulled the robe around herself a bit more tightly and tried not to look.

Sebastian laughed and tossed a pillow at Jim, “Try to have some modesty?”

“It’s my house,” he said, sniffing in mock offense.

“What’s going on?”

“You got drugged by some obnoxious prick who didn’t have the sense to hand you over and go away, and we brought you home and sobered you up. Then I kept you here overnight to make sure you were breathing alright.” Jim shrugged.

“Why… I mean… You… Why were you going out with me?”

Jim raised an eyebrow at her, “because you told me more about Sherlock sitting down with you over a cup of coffee and Glee than I could have gotten from three months of hiring a private detective?”

“Oh…”

“And honestly Molly, if your normal conversation with a potential boyfriend is ‘let me tell you all about this guy I am hung up on who treats me awfully but I’m sure we’re meant to be together’, it’s no wonder you don’t find a new boyfriend.” Jim stared at her and suddenly she felt exactly like a pinned butterfly– it was terrifying and a bit exciting– “You don’t want a boyfriend, you want to make that self-absorbed prick jealous.”

“I-I…” she was going to deny it but Jim looked at her like she would burst into flames, “yes.” She said quietly.

“He’s an absolute ass, and anyone who orders you around to fetch coffee in your own lab, when you’re doing him a FAVOR by letting him be there, is no one you want to date.”

“He just doesn’t know–”

“He did what?” Sebastian asked.

“I, uh, tried to ask him out–again– and he told me to bring him coffee,” she admitted.

“Why would you want to go out with a jerk like that?”

“I told you, Sebie,” Jim rolled his eyes.

“Wait… if you aren’t… you went out with me to get information on Sherlock?”

Jim smiled at her and it was scary– her hand went up to her throat. “Yes.” He said, “I was at the hospital at all, just for Sherlock.”

“Why…”

“Once upon a time, there was a little boy that was utterly brilliant, and then he went and threw his life away on drugs– I saved his life, but he probably doesn’t remember me,” Jim’s voice was hypnotic and dangerous, “And then he turned back up as a detective, doing things that MAYBE meant he was still brilliant– even if he IS a rude obnoxious git– so I set up some challenges for him.” Jim cocked his head at her, “It’s been great fun, frankly.”

 _Oh my god, the  explosives, the clues…_ “You…? You’re the one with the bombs and the clues? YOU?!”

“Yes.”

She stood up clutching the robe and tried to figure out whether to run, or scream, or… Jim stood up and walked right up to her and smiled, “And you, Molly, have a choice.”

“What?” she whispered.

“You can take another dose of rohypnol, like that idiot tried to give you– except not enough to overdose– and we’ll drop you off somewhere, and by the time you get anyone to listen to you it will aallll be over with…”

Jim grabbed her wrist and her neck and pulled her in until she was staring into his eyes and feeling his breath on her lips.

“Or you can keep your mouth shut, and Sebastian and I take you to bed and blow your poor mind until you can’t even remember Sherlock’s NAME…”

Jim pushed her back into the sofa, and she more or less landed on Sebastian… he helped her sit up and didn’t put his hands anywhere they shouldn’t be…

“But you’re gay…” she tried to sound determined and even to her own ears it sounded like a whine.

“I’m bisexual but I prefer men; Sebastian, on the other hand, is straight– which I did try to say last night.”

She stared at Jim, who was standing there looking somehow dangerous and commanding, even without wearing so much as socks and she twisted around to look at Sebastian…

“I won’t lay a finger on you unless you WANT me to,” he grinned, “But I’ve never had any complaints…”

“But…”

“How about a better deal, Molly; you walk back into the bedroom and the two of us do our best to convince you: if you don’t want a repeat, we go back to the rohypnol and you wake up safe and sound somewhere in a hospital.” Jim smirked at her. “Your decision.”

“I-I don’t want Sherlock hurt…”

“I would, if I were you; he’s treated you terribly,” Jim shrugged, “but I have no plans to harm him in any case. If I wanted to have him killed I’d just have Sebastian shoot him.”

“Don’t! Oh, God, please–”

“Molly, if you like playing pretend that by submitting to our wicked ways you’re saving his life, by all means pretend, but in actual fact I have no plans to do anything to him and it doesn’t matter whether you go to bed with us or not.”

Sebastian put his arms around her and pulled her back into him.  He was so big and so strong– there was no way she could do anything he didn’t let her do: she shivered.

Sebastian felt her shudder in his arms, and noted that she moved against his hips in a VERY inviting fashion…

“Jim? Do I correctly suspect that the lady might be a bit… shy?”

Jim smirked back at him, “I think so.”

Sebastian leaned forward and said, “If you want us to stop, just say Holmes, then.”

“What?” she asked and then Sebastian sucked on her ear and started kissing his way down her neck.

“You can say no, or stop, and we’ll ignore you.  Say ‘Holmes’ and we stop.”

“Holmes?” She tried to pull her wits together and Sebastian stopped, she moaned and then flushed in humiliation.

“I said we’d stop…” Jim smiled over her head at Sebastian, who was grinning wickedly.

“Don’t!... Oh God….” She didn’t want them to stop, she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole, but she didn’t want them to stop.

“Sebie? It’s rude to keep a lady waiting. Take her to the bedroom,” he grinned, “I’ll get the strawberries…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes the next chapter is explicit. seriously this fic has turned into "Jim ships with everyone"


	8. Molly in the Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian and Jim and Molly in the middle...  
> also some things at St. Barts.  
> canon typical violence (also some VERY mildly dub con and consent negotiations)

Sebastian thought this looked like insane amounts of fun.  She was willing– so he didn’t have to worry about that– but she was clearly inexperienced and frightened, and he had to admit that the bit of power play that involved was getting him off. Jim… Jim was everything and whipped cream, but he was always in charge. 

“I- I haven’t… I mean... I HAVE, but not in a while… and never… I mean I know I did, but I don’t remember it,” Molly was babbling as he put her down in the bed and pinned her wrists.

“When’s the last time you got tested?” Jim asked as he brought in… _Strawberries and whipped cream and chocolate sauce_ and Sebastian moaned.

Jim smirked, “Don’t mind Pavlov’s Tiger over there,” as he set up the bowls in easy reach, “when?”

“Years ago,” she looked unhappy, “And I got treated.”

“Years?” Jim tsked, “And how many nights you don’t remember too well?”

“A few... not… not from being drugged, just... I had too much to drink.”

“How many where they didn’t use a condom or you didn’t see a clean test result with your own eyes?”

She looked away and Jim sighed, “Medical people are the biggest idiots.” He pulled out the condoms and the gloves along with the lube and tossed some to Sebastian. “No blood play or sharps, then, but–”

Molly’s eyes went wide and she gasped, “Blood? Cutting people?!”

Sebastian shrugged and lowered his head to her neck, still holding her wrists, “I never thought I’d like it, but Jim is… persuasive…” and then he started biting and kissing a ring of bruises around her neck. She moaned and squirmed and made little pleading noises.  She struggled against his hold on her and his weight– completely ineffectually.

He was working his way down to her breasts when Jim tapped him gently, _ah… he was going to start low and work up?_ Sebastian timed it and sucked at her nipple at the moment Jim put his very talented tongue to work.

She damn near arched off the bed and her open mouthed moan was music to his ears.  He glanced down and Jim was grinning– she probably never even noticed the dental dam. Sebastian held her down and they both worked her over until she was positively dripping and begging.

“Not sure that’s sincere enough, Sebastian, what do you think?” Jim was painting chocolate over her with a strawberry for a brush, and the two of them were licking it off.

“Please? Pretty please? Oh god, please?!”

Sebastian moved her wrists behind her back, pulled her up against him and started pushing her knees open with his legs. “You could check some more.”

“PLEASE!!!” she cried.

“Check some more?” Jim ran a gloved hand between her legs.

“Just… just… please fuck me…” she almost whispered– it was the first time she’d said ‘fuck’.

“Not sincere enough, Molly, I want to hear you.” Jim started playing with her more intensely and Sebastian was trying to stay calm because at this rate he was going to DIE if Jim didn’t get on with it.

“Jim… really…” he could feel her dripping and wet at the tip of his condom.

“I want to hear her get over this ridiculous prudishness and ask.” Jim said firmly.

Fuck me, please! Please fuck me, anything, oh GOD please fuck me!”

Jim grinned, “Since you asked.” He nodded regally at Sebastian and Sebastian pushed into her with a growl. She was wet enough that  it was easy, but her squeaked gasps and  wide eyed panting told  them both that  he was a bit more than she was used to– or maybe it had just been too long.

Sebastian started a slow steady pace and held her locked in his arms.  Jim went back to fingering and lubing up her ass, and she just made a sort of gurgled moan.  It was all Sebastian could do not to laugh. When he felt Jim filling her up from behind he was expecting her to come, and she did. She actually shrieked, which was a bit unexpected after all the work it got to get her to say ‘fuck.’.

Jim leaned forward and purred into her ear, “Now it’s our turn.”

Jim wrapped his arms around her and started playing very roughly with her breasts.  Sebastian was a bit concerned until he felt her respond– bucking against them both with her eyes wide and her mouth open. She was begging and pleading and looked like a debauched china doll with a collar of bruises.

Sebastian and Jim started a punishing pace fucking her between them and forcing shrieks, moans, and pleas out of her. No surprise that Sebastian finished first; he helped hold her in place until Jim finished.

“Once we get her tested, Tiger, you should consider piercings…”

“She hasn’t said what she’s choosing…”

Jim laughed and pulled her head back by her hair, “So do you want to get taken and dropped off at a hospital and never see us again?  Or do you want to be collared at Sebastian’s feet as a personal pet?” He leaned in and hissed, “and if you don’t actually say what you want…”

“Let-Let me stay.”

“Sebastian and I get to do anything we want, whenever we want, but you still get your safeword– use it sparingly. Sebastian owns you, and since I own him– more or less– I get to play with you if I feel like it with his permission: clear?”

“Y-yes.”

“You don’t so much as LOOK at anyone else, much less sleep with them, without permission, and if you ever get drunk, lose memories or anything like it you tell us immediately.”

“Y-yes, Jim.”

“You’re getting tested as soon as the clinics open.” He smiled up at Sebastian, “So, Tiger, you have a pet…”

“You always get me the best presents…” Sebastian grinned.

Jim flashed that grin that said things were about to get scary–in a good way– “So Oxford Boy, can you keep your pet occupied while I play?”

“Let me get the restraints…” Sebastian had Molly secured a fast as he could– she mostly looked bewildered and hopeful– and then Jim restrained Sebastian.

“He- he can’t move, either, if you do that…” Molly’s voice quavered.

“Oh, I do keep forgetting your naiveté…  Both of you can use your mouths, can’t you?” James Moriarty purred and started painting them both with chocolate…

~

Sebastian had taken Molly back to her apartment, eventually. She mostly kept blinking a lot and felt like the ground wasn’t very steady– Sebastian very politely helped her unlock her door and then he left.

She had a little Band-Aid from the clinic tests, new phone numbers in her phone, and a ring of bruises around her throat that would take a turtleneck to cover– _collar, Sebastian was buying her a collar_ – she rather shakily changed clothes and fed Toby and got herself together for work.

Jim had rather wickedly suggested she wear a period pad to soak up the wet as she thought about the weekend. She’d thought he was joking but…. _Collar_ … her hand went to her throat and she FELT herself getting wet.

She went into work in a turtleneck and long sleeves and feeling very self-conscious as though everyone could SEE what she’d been doing. Oh God she’d never done anything like that sober.

She’d only just started settling in to her day when she found out that Neville had been found dead in the hospital trash compactor.  She stared at the technician who told her with wide eyes…

“Neville?”  She waved around at his height, “Neville who asked me out?”

“Neville asked you out?”

“Yes…” she suddenly thought about Jim, and Sebastian, and Neville not handing her over and had a sudden certain knowledge of how he ended up dead in a trash compactor…”I turned him down  because he seemed a bit creepy.”

“Wow…” they told the police, and Sally Donovan came to take a statement from her.  She hated Sally, Sally hated Sherlock and she was mean to John, too.

“So when was the last time you saw him? We’re trying to build up an idea of his movements.”

“Here, actually,” Molly waved at the office, “I’d recently … I’d broken up with someone and he suddenly wanted to take me out for a drink– just friends.” Her voice got bitter as she  realized again that he’d DRUGGED her… he hadn’t had to drug her… she would have done anything for some affection….

Molly started sniffling and excused herself to the ladies room. When she came out her luck had changed for the worse– Sherlock was there with John.

She was certain she looked horrible, sniffling and red eyed and puffy and now Sherlock was there and he’d KNOW… he’d know just by looking at her…

John sat her down and got her a cup of tea and Sally Donovan glared at Sherlock and started asking her things again, “So he asked you out?”

“Yes,” she whispered, “because I’d broken up with Jim.”

“Who’s Jim?”

Sherlock snapped, “He’s a gay man who works  in the computer department here and tried to give me his phone number– for some reason Molly thinks they were dating.”

“He’s not gay!” she snapped out before she could stop herself and then she just moaned and put her face in her hands, _what the hell have I gotten into_.

John asked her gently, “So this Neville guy asked you out?”

“Yes, but he seemed creepy.”

“Where were you this weekend?”

“Out!” Molly was beginning to panic.

Sally narrowed her eyes and started to say something but Sherlock interrupted, “She was distraught over my telling her that her ‘boyfriend’ wasn’t and…” he looked her up and down and then his eyes widened.

“Oh God…” she turned red and looked frantically at John who looked equally embarrassed.

“If it’s any consolation he does that to me, too.” John whispered.

“She was with someone all weekend.” Sherlock said in a marveling tone, as if… as if he couldn’t believe she could have a date, or a boyfriend…. _He really WAS a jerk._

Sally Donovan was glaring hate at him even more than usual. So of course at that moment her phone rang. She glanced down and saw Sebastian on the caller ID and flushed even more.

“Umm.. .That’s… um… my new boyfriend.”

“Can we talk to him please?” Sally Donovan asked her and GLARED at Sherlock.

Molly nodded, “Hi, Sebastian, can… can you talk to someone… she’s with the police…”

“Its fine, Molly, we know.” Sebastian said quietly, “just give Donovan the phone.”

Molly handed over the phone. Donovan asked him some questions and wrote down his answers; after a little while she started smiling a bit, and from the way she kept glancing at Sherlock Molly had the impression Sebastian was saying some unflattering things…

Sherlock walked out part way through the call saying something about plans… John just shrugged helplessly at her and went after him.

Donovan handed her back the phone and gave her a much warmer look than she’d ever gotten before.

“Excuse me,” Molly mumbled and stepped aside with the phone. “Sebastian?”

“It’s fine, Molly.” Sebastian chuckled, “She hates Sherlock’s guts, so I just played up how awfully he treated you.  Anyway you were with me all weekend. Jim isn’t involved, of course.”

“Of-of course.”

“Do you have a paper and pen?”

“Yes?” she got them out; he gave her an address.

“Go there after work. I’ll meet you.” his voice was warm and made her shiver. “We’ll pick you out a nice collar and some toys.”

“Yes… yes of course.” She made her goodbyes and hung up, only to find Sally Donovan staring down at the address on her desk with a grin.

“Um… he wants to meet me…”

“I always wondered why you put up with Sherlock…” Sally smirked faintly and there was something… familiar…“Sebastian sounds nice…” She handed her a card, it had all the usual police things on it, but it also had an email and phone written on the back.

“I hope he is as nice as he sounds, Molly, but if he ever goes past your safewords or you need a hand? Call me.”

Molly stared at her with her mouth hanging open…

Sally laughed, “Yeah it’s that obvious– don’t need to be the F-Sherlock to get that, not when you’ve been around a bit.” She glanced at the address, “Do you want company?”

Molly shook her head, “Its fine.”

“Get ‘The Better Bottoming Book’, okay? and keep in touch.”

“Th-thank you?”

“No problem.” Sally shook her head and muttered something about the quiet girls and left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> normally Sally isn't very nice at all in my fics.. funny how things change. (she still hates Sherlock though, but in fairness he IS a jerk)


End file.
